The nature of the beast..
I have to believe that for every dark night, there is a brighter day…
Following moments of happiness last night we delved into moments of true sadness and desperation this morning.
Martha has spent the last twelve hours angry, agitated, frustrated.. Telling me how much of a stupid fucking bitch I am. One of the hardest things I have ever had to hear as human but more so as a daughter.
My mother talks with real hatred towards me, most of my reaction and response to her is in love, I try to calm and reassure her, keep my tone calm and quiet as she tells me I’m stupid, I’m dumb and repeats you fucking dumb bitch. I know she doesn’t mean it, I know it is the disease. I become paralyzed by fear as she says she wants to hit me. I repeat it’s the disease. She wants me to go. It’s the disease. I tell her I love her. The other part of me, a small but childish part reacts with hate and anger. I forget the disease and for seconds that pass feel hatred towards her as my mother. I want to yell at her and tell her I hate her, I want to yell at her and tell her I wish I was dead, I want to yell at her and tell her I wish she was dead. I stop. I don’t yell these things. I stroke her arm again and tell her it’s ok.
There are seconds of calmness before she starts again, becoming frustrated and angry. I rub her arm to try and calm her, she pushes me off her and threatens to hit me, again. This time I restrain her. Footsteps up the stairs. Bonni is here. In those moments I feel confused. This is my weakness, at 630am I feel weak. Embarrassed. I don’t want people to see us like this. I am disappointed in myself. How could I let it get like this? I want to say, please please go away.. But of course I don’t. Deep inside me I know that I need this. I need support. I need help.
We both try to calm her, she listens to Bonni; Mum and I start to have a conversation. She says I don’t tell her anything, the reactive part of me wants to say you just can’t remember but I agree with her, tears start to roll down my face as she tells me off for a sin I never committed. She thinks the tears are for her, that the tears are because I am apologetic. The tears, my tears, are for me.
My brain is no longer flooded with anger it is a small ripple, I remember the magic. The feeling I had the night before as I lay and watched her before we headed to bed.
I leave her sleep and start to type.
This is the nature of the beast.
‘If you resist it, it’ll be cruel to you, if you let it in, it’ll be magic’